Conspiracy of Silence: The SevenHeaded Serpent
by Nomad1
Summary: Severus Snape's seventh year at Hogwarts. When you're surrounded by snakes, sooner or later you'll get bitten...
1. Chapter One

**Conspiracy of Silence**

by Nomad   
April 2002

**Disclaimer: ** J.K. Rowling created and owns Hogwarts, Severus Snape, and almost everything else in this story - for which I will be forever jealous.   
**Author's Note**: The sequel to CoS: Sixth Sense. Seventh and final story in the series.

**The Seven-Headed Serpent**

Severus Snape stepped out onto platform nine and three quarters for the seventh and final time. Perhaps his heart ought to have been heavy - or even light - at the thought, but he had other things occupying his mind. A great number of things were coming to a head in the world of wizardry right now, and his school career was just about the least important of them.

At seventeen, Sev was now a man grown, imposingly tall if more skinny than slim, and could perhaps have been handsome if he'd cared. He did not - appearances, like many of the other things his classmates considered so important, were largely meaningless to him.

Indeed, all of Snape's own most valuable skills were the kind that didn't show on the surface; his surface showed very little at all, except when he wanted it to. He went through life with an icy, impassive exterior, occasionally exploding into a raging temper that very few realised was as calculated as his barbed remarks.

Orphaned and largely self-raised, with the aid of his uncle's extensive magical library, Severus had developed a truly exceptional logical mind - not to mention the ability to remain detached from the people around him. He'd been watching and listening very carefully from the very beginning of his time at Hogwarts, and it hadn't taken long at all to realise that something very rotten was building in the wizard world.

Though nobody could accuse him of selfless nobility, Sev was nothing if not pragmatic, and logic dictated that the rise of the Death Eaters would do him no favours. Whilst he prized knowledge above all else, they were more interested in their meaningless concept of 'purity' - a system which offended his innate sense of logic. He wasn't impressed by the idea of a world where stupidity could be ranked over genius simply by 'virtue' of family connections, and he knew for a fact that a man of his intelligence would be a target for everybody when it came to that kind of backstabbing environment. Oh, he trusted his ability to outwit them at every turn, but he knew it would be even simpler to eradicate such enemies entirely.

The Death Eaters needed to be stopped from reaching power, and he wasn't about to trust the forces of 'good' to achieve that without aid. Even Dumbledore, one of the few wizards he believed to have an intelligence comparable to his own, was too often blinded by emotion and compassion. Heroics had their place, he supposed, but they were no substitute for careful calculation and planning.

The Death Eater leader, Lord Voldemort, was certainly just as mentally adept as the Hogwarts headmaster - and considerably less hampered by any semblance of moral code. All the heroics in the world wouldn't defeat Voldemort's cunning - that was a job that would require somebody on the inside; somebody extremely quick, adaptable, perceptive, and capable of thinking a few dozen steps ahead of the enemy.

Naturally, Sev considered himself the only possible candidate for the job.

Right from the beginning, he'd made his way into the inner circle of Lucius Malfoy, the obvious ringleader. Though Malfoy didn't _like_ Sev overmuch - he was far too aware of his superior intelligence for that - he trusted him, as much as one Slytherin trusted another.

Malfoy was waiting for him as he stalked through the crowd on the platform. Most of them stepped back out of his way; his carefully built reputation for fury and curses was close to legendary. He was tarred with the same brush as his fellow secret Death Eaters, and his icy exterior added a dark mystery all his own.

Though Lucius Malfoy had no doubt reached his full adult height, he would never be as tall as Snape or indeed most of his male classmates. Together with his white-blond hair and slim build, he looked almost fragile, delicate - until you noticed the steel in his cold grey eyes.

"Severus." He acknowledged Snape with a barely perceptible nod. "You kept us waiting." Of course, they had never actually made any arrangement to meet on the platform - Malfoy had just assumed that it was his classmates' priority to be where he was.

"This is hardly any place I would care to loiter," he said with a sneer. In truth, a crowded platform was an ideal place for indulging one of his greatest talents, people-watching, although after six years there was little about his fellow students he didn't already know. However, as a Death Eater he was supposed to be deeply disgusted at the idea of fraternising with lesser mortals. In fact, Sev was quite happy giving most of the students that designation, but not for the same reasons Malfoy did.

"Quite." Malfoy pulled a highly snooty expression and swept around in a circle pointedly. "Then let's get out of the rabble." They boarded the train.

There were seven of them together in the carriage; over the years they had formed into a tightly knit group. Although by now all of house Slytherin bowed to Malfoy to some degree, these five - and, so he believed, Snape - were his most loyal followers.

Malfoy was the leader, and Sev the mastermind. Nick Avery was slick and charming, and could have rivalled Malfoy for leadership if he hadn't been too lazy. Colin Crabbe was dim-witted but a surprisingly talented thief, and Simon Lestrange was quietly psychopathic. The other two boys, Alex Nott and Graham Goyle, were both a year younger, and served as the muscle of the operation. They terrorised 'mudbloods' and 'Muggle-lovers' wherever they were found, or even suspected of being found. The young Death Eaters never let the facts get in the way of a good prejudice.

Although it would be a big mistake to assume - as most adults probably would - that their youth somehow rendered them harmless, Malfoy's band of followers were not Voldemort's most deadly card in the Hogwarts deck. That honour belonged to Ellida Vitae, a Death Eater spy who Snape had spent most of the past six years trying to uncover.

As the head of house for Gryffindor, no less - home of the noble and brave - Vitae would probably be considered above suspicion by all but the most untrusting. The only ones who now knew her secret were Malfoy, Snape, Dumbledore, and the Slytherin head of house Professor Malachite.

And, of course, Lily. The least likely of Sev's allies in his undercover war, she had twigged early on that there was more to him than met the eye, and whilst she didn't exactly approve of some of his methods, she had to accept that his spying was probably their best hope against the Death Eaters. She might not lead nearly as elaborate a double life as he, but her Gryffindor boyfriend Potter and his friends would be _very_ surprised if they knew that she and Snape were actually pretty close associates.

Malfoy, of course, would be totally horrified. Lily fulfilled every qualification necessary to be his most hated enemy - she was a mudblood, a Gryffindor and James Potter's girlfriend, not to mention committing the cardinal sin of being simultaneously female and better in her classes than Malfoy.

However, right now Malfoy was dreaming of bigger things than the perpetual thorns in his side from house Gryffindor. He waited until the train pulled out, as if fearful of spies, and then leaned forward eagerly.

"Our leader wants to see us all this Christmas. I need you all to tell your parents that you'll be staying with me, or at least that you'll be staying on at Hogwarts."

"Why all the fuss?" frowned Nick Avery. "Why can't we go out at night like we usually do?"

"We're not using the Portkey this time," Malfoy explained curtly. Over the last few years, they had often been woken in the middle of the night to troop out to the Forbidden Forest and be magically transported.

"Why not?" frowned Colin. Sev realised the answer first, probably because he was the only one who'd taken the time to work out where they actually _were_ when they visited their hidden leader.

"He's in the country," he surmised. All their previous visits had been to the European school of wizardry, Durmstrang, although no one had admitted as much out loud. Now, it appeared, Voldemort was coming to England to set his plans in motion.

Malfoy grinned wickedly. "The hour is upon us," he smirked. "Soon..." He didn't need to finish.

The boys' answering grins were a mixture of triumph and nervousness. All of a sudden, their playing at being spies and rebels was a whole lot closer to becoming a reality...

* * *

Sev's meeting with his _other_ group of secret allies was a much more surreptitious affair. The young Death Eaters were secure in their arrogance, and protected by the fact that everyone _expected_ Slytherins to be clustered together in corners, plotting. Secret meetings with people who were supposed to be his arch-enemies were a little hard to arrange.

It was three weeks in to the term before Professor Malachite happened to 'casually' snare him after class. "Severus; I've been thinking about entering you for an extra NEWT in Dark Enchantments at the end of the year. I'd like you to come and see the headmaster with me about it, if you don't mind."

As if she'd been coached to do so - and perhaps she had, for she was under considerably less scrutiny than he - Lily piped up "Dark Enchantments? I've been reading up on that over the summer. Oh, sir, can't I take the exam too?"

It was hard to tell whether Malachite's scowl was real or feigned. Though his enmity towards Professor Vitae had turned out to be well-justified, he hadn't quite got over his dislike of her house in general. And perhaps he had good reason to; house Slytherin were routinely maligned and mistrusted, a legacy of suspicion that Malfoy and his disciples certainly weren't doing anything to retract. Malachite tended to be fiercely proud of any show of talent or good behaviour by his students, and was endless frustrated when house Gryffindor horned in on it for their slice of the glory.

"Very well, Lily," he said coolly, "you may come and speak with the headmaster as well. However, I should warn you that the extra course on top of your Defence Against the Dark Arts studies will be _very_ demanding."

"I'm sure I'll survive," said Lily, and smiled sweetly. In her own way, she could be just as wickedly smug as Lucius Malfoy himself.

As she and Snape trooped through the corridors together, they shot each other sneers and dirty looks. As soon as they were through into the corridor outside the headmaster's office, Lily's dissolved into giggles.

Malachite gave her a disapproving look. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Lily."

"Sorry," she said, not very apologetically. "It's just your face, Sev. You look like you've swallowed a frog."

"It's my 'what did I do in a past life to have to put up with these people?' look."

"Well, it's very effective," she assured him.

"What makes you think it's put on?"

"I should think you have more trying things to put up with than us," observed Professor Dumbledore, seeming to appear out of nowhere. "What of your other group of allies?"

"They're up to something," Sev said bluntly. "Voldemort is in the country, and he wants to see us all at Christmas."

"In the country?" Malachite stroked his goatee beard gravely. "Sounds like he's getting pretty close to making his move openly."

"Indeed it does." Dumbledore looked troubled. "And if so, I fear the viper in our midst may well be preparing to strike."

"Yes, well, she's not the only snake in the Hogwarts grass," Malachite said pointedly. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had a secret of his own; he was a Naga, a shapeshifter capable of taking on the form of a huge white snake. Dumbledore had known about it since his school days, just as he had kept the secret of Remus Lupin's lycanthropy.

"Enough with the snakey metaphors?" Lily suggested. "If anybody can listen in on us here, we've lost already, so why don't we all just speak plainly? You're talking about Professor Vitae, right?"

Dumbledore smiled fondly at her. "Indeed we are Lily, and you're quite right. The time for mincing words is long past."

"In that case," said Malachite fiercely, "let me say again what I've been telling you all summer. We _need_ to get rid of her."

"Maybe so, maybe so." Dumbledore looked sad. "I fear you're right; the time for bringing her back from the dark path she's strayed to is long past, and if Voldemort plans to move openly there's little need to worry about a replacement spy. So the question becomes - can we move against her without throwing suspicion onto young Severus?"

"Of course we can," insisted Malachite boldly. "By throwing it all onto me."

"Now, Carnus-" Dumbledore seemed less than thrilled with the idea, but the Slytherin house leader was firm.

"Please, Albus, she knows full well that it was I she tussled with in the tower last year. There are a limit to the giant white snakes one encounters in a lifetime," he said dryly. "I didn't see her face then, but she knows I've always been suspicious of her."

"It makes sense." Sev spoke softly, but everyone fell silent when he did. "If you confront her, you can have her convict herself."

"Oh, c'mon!" objected Lily. "She's kept her defences up this long, you really think she's that stupid?"

"No, but she's that arrogant. Think of Malfoy. The things he says could get him in trouble a thousand times over, but why does he do it?"

"To prove he can," answered Lily instantly. "It's not enough to be nasty, he has to be nasty and prove that he can get away with it." She turned that over in her head for a moment. "So you're saying she'll taunt him with the truth, if she believes no one else will ever get to hear it?"

"Exactly."

"But I think we'd better arrange that someone _is_ there to hear it," interjected Dumbledore soberly. Malachite frowned at him.

"I appreciate your help, Albus, but I assure you, I can take care of Ellida Vitae myself."

Dumbledore looked troubled. "I thought you would say so, but I'm afraid I must insist. Ellida has been waiting to revenge herself upon you for a long time - your nature may protect you from many kinds of attacks, but you must remember that she knows what you are. Your victory is not much of one if it gets you killed."

Malachite looked petulant, but finally he gave a single sharp nod. "Very well. I'll confront her, and you can tag along. I trust you'll find a way to make yourself... unobtrusive."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," smiled the headmaster enigmatically.

"But not yet," Sev cautioned. "The time isn't right."

Malachite snorted. "Is it ever?"

"Wait until after Christmas," he elaborated. "Vitae is Voldemort's conduit to Malfoy's Death Eaters, and his means of sending them their orders. No doubt he'll find a way to reestablish contact soon enough, but let's not hand it to him on a plate."

The others nodded their agreement, and Lily asked "So what does he want with you at Christmas?"

Sev gave a slight shrug. "To talk about the future, no doubt. Time is growing short, and sooner or later he's going to take us out of the schoolyard and into the combat zone."

The others exchanged worried glances. Sev's face was, as always, unreadable.


	2. Chapter Two

The autumn term passed largely without incident. Malfoy had some kind of minor spat with Narcissa, and went around cursing first years with a perpetual scowl; Potter and his friends become heroes of house Gryffindor by turning the Slytherin Quidditch robes pink; a big fight exploded in Potions that ended with both Potter and Malfoy's friends in a week's worth of detention.

There were skirmishes between the houses, but no outright battles, and Sev suspected Malfoy was lying low - probably at Voldemort's orders. So far as the Death Eater leader was concerned, his followers at Hogwarts were very much a hidden asset, and for now, at least, he wanted to keep them that way.

Sev had no trouble getting permission to attend the Christmas meeting; he always stayed at the school for the holidays in any case, and the uncle who acted as his nominal guardian was content to let him come and go as he pleased.

The seven of them spent the first week of the holiday at the Malfoy family mansion. It was very much as Sev had imagined it, a cold, inhospitable place staffed by petrified house elves. They saw very little of Mr. Malfoy, an imposing and icy-voiced man who was obviously the role-model for Lucius's best evil scowls. There was no sign of his mother at all.

The one thing that Sev did find in the Malfoys' favour was that they had a rather extensive library of books of dark magic. Those volumes that he hadn't found in Professor Malachite's collection were generally a highly unpleasant read, but he consumed them avidly all the same. In Sev's world, no knowledge was bad knowledge.

On the sixth day, Sev was woken even earlier than usual by a blazing pain in his arm. He wasn't surprised when he pulled back his sleeve to find the Dark Mark tattooed there burning black.

He quickly dressed and found the other boys milling about in the hallway. Nick Avery was the last to emerge from the room he was sharing with Colin, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, c'mon," he groaned. "He's even in this country now, it would kill him to keep office hours?"

"We go when we're summoned," Malfoy reminded him sharply. "Come on." He led the way to the main room, where a fire was still burning. "We'll travel by Floo Powder - _I_ can Apparate, but I don't suppose any of _you_ can."

Sev suspected he could if occasion demanded it, but although he had learnt the skill he had yet to find reason to test it. Unlike Malfoy, he didn't feel compelled to show off his magics just for the sake of it. Why show everybody when you could hide your skills and keep everyone off-balance?

He didn't recognise the name of the mansion Malfoy gave them to teleport to; he filed it away on the off-chance that it belonged to a family who had gone over to the Death Eaters. That was a possibility, but it was just as likely that the true owners had been killed off to make room for the Death Eater leader.

Two of his followers had made the trip from Durmstrang with him, the snooty professor Dolohov and his young lackey Igor. They greeted the young Brits with an air of disinterested contempt, and ushered them into Voldemort's presence.

Sev was probably the least nervous of the seven of them, for all that he had most to worry about. Aside from Malfoy, he had seen the most of Voldemort in person, and he thought he had a fair enough handle on how his mind worked. The Death Eater leader was certainly deadly, but there was logic behind his actions, not random cruelty. He was building a reign of terror, but he was doing it on purpose, and with a specific aim in mind.

That aim, of course, being to establish himself as absolute ruler of the wizarding community. It seemed to be a common enough goal, although Sev couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Nearly all the people he interacted with were shallow and uninteresting - why would he want to take on responsibility for a whole country full of similar types?

Voldemort smiled at them all. Sev had no doubt that James Potter and the like would fully expect him to be as icy and grim as, well, Snape himself, but in fact the opposite was true. Voldemort was a very handsome man in his middle years, with an easy, light manner and a ready smile... but Sev knew to look at the eyes, and Voldemort's eyes were very sharp indeed. He might seem friendly, even playful, but he was a very, very dangerous man, and highly intelligent with it.

"Ah, gentlemen." Voldemort lounged casually back in his chair as he regarded them all. "So we meet again."

Actually, it was the first time all seven of them had confronted him together. Nott and Goyle were more recent recruits, and presumably had been taken to see him by Malfoy on some other occasion. Voldemort liked to assess each of his new recruits personally; partly, perhaps, to encourage their awe and fear of him, but also Sev suspected because, like Snape himself, he had a great talent for judging people at first glimpse.

"Lord Voldemort." Malfoy bowed his head in a way that was probably best termed 'arrogantly respectful'. Malfoy held on tight to his position of authority, but he wasn't stupid enough to try to challenge someone as high above him as Voldemort.

Voldemort gave a nod in return. "Lucius." Then he nodded to Snape. "Severus." Sev held in a slight smile of acknowledgement. Clever, very clever - accenting Malfoy's superiority, yet at the same time pointing out that Snape had his own amount of power, too. It took a careful balance of appeasement and prodding to keep Malfoy in place, but Voldemort played him effortlessly.

"Gentlemen, the time of my ascension grows near," he told them with the edge of a triumphant smirk. "Soon, very soon... and I will need faithful followers in position when that time comes."

"What do you want of us?" asked Malfoy eagerly.

Voldemort drew his wand, and Colin, Nick and the younger boys shrank back fearfully. The Death Eater leader smirked, but merely gave a flick of his wand and muttered a simple transportation spell. A pile of seven scrolls appeared on the table beside him, and he gestured for the boys to take them.

Sev took one and unrolled it, scanning the message at his usual rapid speed. It was presented as an official letter, not unlike the ones that were sent out from Hogwarts. As he unfurled it, the letters swirled to personalise it to him.

_The Serpent Academy of Slytherin Excellence_

Dear Mr. Snape,

You have been selected from a number of young hopefuls to take part in the Serpent Academy pilot program this summer. The Serpent program is a further education opportunity for talented older students of House Slytherin.

The program starts immediately after the school term ends, and I hope that we will see you there.

Yours sincerely,

L. V. DeMorto   
Head of Program

Sev smirked slightly at the blatant anagram of the signature. Anybody with the slightest knowledge of the Death Eaters could decipher it - and yet what could they do? It was the kind of casual arrogance that was a hallmark of Death Eaters and Slytherins both. Voldemort _wanted_ his enemies to see what he was doing; see it, but be unable to stop it and unable to prove it.

"So we're a nest of serpents, are we?" grinned Nick Avery. Voldemort held up a hand to correct him.

"No, you are _one_ serpent. A team, thinking and acting and moving as one, for the sake of the cause."

"A seven-headed serpent," Snape suggested, whilst Malfoy scowled. No doubt he wasn't too thrilled about being lumped in with everybody else as part of a team.

"Quite, quite." Voldemort chuckled, an earthy, deceptively friendly sound. "And many heads are better than one, are they not?" Abruptly, his expression clamped down and cut off the good humour. "You may go. Malfoy, Snape, a moment."

They both lingered as the others trooped out dutifully. "And some heads are better than others," he said, for the benefit of them alone. "Malfoy, watch your men carefully. I trust you to weed out the weak and the valueless."

Malfoy gave a coolly triumphant smile. Voldemort turned to Sev. "Severus, you do the same." Before Malfoy could looked annoyed, he elaborated "They all know, whatever we say of teamwork, that Malfoy is their leader. They may be more likely to relax their guard around you. Watch everybody around you _very_ carefully."

Sev nodded respectfully, and caught the almost imperceptible accent Voldemort gave to 'everybody'. Malfoy didn't realise it, but his second-in-command had just been detailed to keep as close an eye on him as on those below him.

As Sev followed the others out, he reflected that it was almost a pity that he would never let Voldemort know his true loyalties. The Death Eater leader had just the right sort of brain to appreciate the irony.

* * *

Malfoy offered the boys the run of his parents' mansion for the remainder of the holidays; Sev was the only one not to take him up on it. He would learn far more at Hogwarts than around a group of boys he'd already observed for six years and besides, the reason he gave Malfoy was a true one - he much preferred the solitude.

Few students stayed at Hogwarts outside of termtime, especially during a holiday that was so based around family. With the threat of the hidden Death Eaters growing in everybody's consciousness, the wizarding community preferred to keep their loved ones where they could see them. There were far too many tales these days of people disappearing and whole households blasted out of existence.

It was easy enough, then, for him to find time to seek out Dumbledore and Malachite.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was obviously itching to act. "We need to move _now_," he urged.

"We need to move later," Sev corrected pointedly. "The winter holidays aren't over yet, and Voldemort can still recall his troops to give them new orders."

"Will it be any different when the new term arrives?" Malachite wanted to know.

Sev nodded. "He's brought us to him by Portkey all the other times, and it has to be Vitae who sets it up for him. Without that, he'll have a great deal of trouble getting us out of the school all together."

"Unless he comes down to the village."

"He won't do that," spoke up Dumbledore, quietly but firmly. Sev nodded.

"He's too smart for that. There's a lot of power concentrated in this school that could harm him at this stage in the game, and I don't think Malfoy _or_ Vitae is important enough for him to risk that."

Malachite looked to the headmaster. "So I make my move against her just before term begins. Do you have your man?"

"Flitwick?" The headmaster nodded, and broke his first smile of the grim planning session. "I haven't told him the details, but he knows we'll be needing him on site - and not just as a teacher. He's a powerful Charms man, and a championship duellist to boot."

"What about Gryffindor?" To his credit, Malachite at least tried to contain his automatic sneer of distaste. "They'll need a new head of house, and you can't hand that to a new man."

Dumbledore nodded, as if he'd thought this through already. "I was thinking of Minerva, actually."

"McGonagall?" Malachite actually started to smile. "Yes, she's been here... why, it must be six, seven years now? She's young, but she takes her Transfiguration classes with a fist of iron. A fine choice, I think. She's just what those rowdy Gryffindors need to keep them all in line."

"So glad you approve," said Dumbledore, with a slight twinkle that made it difficult to tell if he was being wry or serious. The headmaster turned to Snape.

"Severus, you think these plans will be enough to throw Voldemort off track for a moment?"

Sev nodded slightly. "But only a moment. If you bring your substitute right in he'll have no chance to try and lever in another spy. But it won't take him long to start thinking of revenge."

"All to the good," shrugged Malachite. "The angrier he is, the more careless he'll be."

Sev shook his head. "Not Voldemort. You may make him angry, but he'll be clever about his vengeance all the same. He wants people to be afraid of him, and for that he needs to seem to strike everywhere at once."

"Well, if he strikes at us he'll be in for a surprise," scoffed Malachite. "He can't think to hurt Professor Dumbledore, and I myself have more than a few little surprises up my Slytherin sleeves."

Sev simply nodded, reserving his judgement. Malachite might be right, but he himself preferred to trust cold facts over self-confidence.

* * *

Sev liked the holiday season well enough, but mostly because it marked long days of being left to his own devices. He had no objection to goodwill towards all men, provided he wasn't expected to either take part in it or receive it. Who would take noisy, overcrowded parties over curling up alone in the dorms with a good book?

The other boys might return from their homes boasting of the extravagant gifts their parents gave them, but all Severus was used to receiving were books from his uncle - and he certainly wasn't disappointed with that.

His mother's brother was a well-meaning man, but he wouldn't have had much clue how to raise any child, let alone one as coolly self-possessed as his young nephew. His attitude to Severus was mostly one of affection, confusion, and slight relief that he seemed to be capable of raising himself without too much intervention. His uncle might not be too clear on a lot of things about him, but he'd realised pretty quickly that his nephew liked books. The more books the better.

Though, even now he was close to graduation, his uncle still underestimated the level of his education, Sev was always happy enough with his gifts. Even if they were basic books, they were still books, and they were somehow better for the fact that they were his to keep and never had to be returned to someone else's library.

So if Sev was a long way from the type to go crazy with Christmas excitement, he was mildly pleased when the day arrived, and made his way promptly enough to see what the owls would bring him.

As he had two years ago, he found himself with an unexpected delivery on Christmas morning, and this time it wasn't another summons from Voldemort. He frowned as a sleek white school owl delivered a soft package - unlike most of the young wizards, he didn't have any crazy relatives with an urge to send him unsolicited clothes.

He tore open the package with a certain amount of caution, and smiled at the familiar silvery fabric revealed. A note fluttered out, and as he picked it up he recognised the handwriting.

_You gave it to me, and I don't see why I should give it back. But I know you're up to something, so think of this as a temporary loan until I come back to beat you up and make you tell me._

It was signed simply with an L. Snape shook out the invisibility cloak and held it up thoughtfully. Yes, this was one Christmas present that would definitely come in more handy than his uncle's textbooks...


	3. Chapter Three

With the aid of the invisibility cloak, Sev was able to go to witness Malachite's confrontation with Vitae first-hand. A much better proposition than hearing about it after the fact, for even if his allies shared everything with him, they wouldn't necessarily look for or notice the same things he did. Dumbledore was wise, but guided by compassion that was too often misplaced. And Malachite was entirely too confident of his superiority over his enemy.

Better, then, that he see for himself. However, Sev didn't see any particular need to inform his allies that he would be accompanying them to observe.

Malachite met Vitae out by the Forbidden Forest. It was the day before the students would be returning, the latest they had dared to leave it.

Vitae strode out to meet her enemy with a cold smile. "So. Carnus. You wanted to speak with me." There was a twist of disgust to her expression when she met him that she could never quite hide, and now she thought they were alone, she wasn't trying.

"I did." Malachite, by contrast, was a block of ice.

She sneered. "I hope you're not plotting some treachery. I know what you are."

Malachite laughed at that; a rich, earthy sound, ringing with genuine amusement. "Treachery, I? I think you forget yourself." He smirked. "Of course, if I were you I would certainly want to."

She looked resolutely unimpressed. "If there's a point to this exercise, I suggest you make it."

"Very well." He straightened abruptly to his full height, and suddenly the look of the jovial schoolteacher gave way to the inherent nobility of the Naga people he came from. "You say you know what I am, but I recognise _you_ for what you are, Ellida Vitae; a liar, a murderess and a traitor."

Vitae laughed, then, a mocking snort. "You're delusional."

"You're a Death Eater."

He spoke quietly, almost casually. To her credit, she didn't even flinch or look surprised. "You're more than deluded if you think anyone will listen to your jealous accusations," she told him.

"Jealous?" He smiled. "Of what?" He looked her up and down scornfully. "I don't see an awful lot to be jealous of. You're second rate, Vitae. A second rate loser who could never accept I was better than you were. No wonder you went running to your precious Lord Voldemort. Of course you'd embrace a value system that prizes meaningless distinctions over merit."

"You know nothing, Malachite," she spat. "You never did."

"Of course you'd hate those you call mudbloods," he continued relentlessly. "The blood of generations of wizards runs in your veins - I suppose it only makes it that much more embarrassing that you're a failure."

"My blood runs hot, not cold like yours," Vitae snarled. "And you have a strange definition of failure, snake."

"Failures are people who lose, my dear Ellida," he told her lightly. "And that, I think you'll find, is definitely you." He laughed again. "Ironic, isn't it? I mean, look at us. You, the brave, noble Gryffindor, the toast of the school. Me, the arrogant Slytherin; sly, secretive, not even human. And which of us went to the bad?" He chuckled.

"Arrogant you certainly are," she said, straightening up. "You truly think you can say these things and expect to be believed? Or do you still have some woefully ineffectual trick up your sleeve?"

"Not up my sleeve, but up yours," Malachite informed her. He smirked. "I know more about your little group than you think. I know that when you sold your loyalties to Voldemort, he branded you with his mark to make sure you never sold them back again."

Vitae made a single sharp movement, and suddenly her wand was in her hand. "And you think that I'll just sit idly by and let you do as you wish?"

"You can't threaten me, Ellida," he remarked calmly. "Or do you forget the name of my speciality?" He shook his sleeve, and suddenly he was holding his own wand.

Vitae smirked triumphantly. "_Some_ arts are too dark for you to have any defence against them." She raised her wand, ready to cast a spell... and, suddenly, a hand came out of nowhere to grasp her outstretched arm.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Ellida," said Professor Dumbledore quietly. "Do you?"

Even Snape, who had been watching from a distance under the cloak, had not seen him approach.

Vitae yanked her arm away from him and scowled. "Headmaster, you surely don't believe this... _creature_'s wild accusations?"

"It's a peculiarity of mine," said the headmaster calmly. "I try to make a habit of believing those who tell the truth."

She snarled at the pair of them, obviously realising the time for smooth talking was well past. "You're fools, both of you. You're no match for the magic Lord Voldemort has taught me."

Dumbledore sighed, and shook his head sadly. "Ah, Ellida. If you truly believe what he's taught you is worth anything, then I fear you never understood magic at all."

Vitae pointed her wand at him. "Your feeble magic is nothing but party tricks, old man! Where's the _power_?" She sneered at him. "Here you stand, and you don't even have your wand!"

"Perhaps I don't need one." So calmly did he speak, and such was the strength of Dumbledore's reputation in the wizarding community, that Vitae trembled on the edge of casting a spell, not quite daring to go through with it. The Hogwarts headmaster continued to smile at her faintly until her wand-tip lowered towards the ground.

"You've gone a long way down some dark paths, Ellida," he said soberly. "But there is still a way back, should you choose to take it. Turn aside from your dark masters, and I believe I will be able to help you."

Malachite gave a disbelieving snort. Under the cloak, Sev rolled his eyes. Dumbledore had to know full well that his offer would be rejected, but he made it anyway.

Vitae looked at him incredulously, and then spat on the ground. "Did I call you an old man? You're not even that, you're a snivelling child, too weak to fight back against those who seek to destroy you." She smirked evilly. "And _that_ is why we are sure to triumph."

She gestured with her wand and snapped out a word of command, and suddenly her broomstick was in her hand. Malachite lunged towards her, but before he could move, she was in the air and away.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pointed his wand and started to mutter, but Dumbledore stayed his arm. "Let her go."

"She'll run straight back to Voldemort," Malachite warned him, as Vitae disappeared out of view over the trees. No doubt she would Apparate away as soon as she was safely out of the Hogwarts shield.

"She'll tell them nothing they couldn't find out for themselves." He looked up at the stars. "And I fear her masters' displeasure will not go well for her." He showed neither triumph nor grim satisfaction at the prospect, only weary sorrow.

"Perhaps." Malachite looked grave. "But I hope you were right, Albus. Your compassion does you credit, but it's also your biggest weakness."

The headmaster regarded him with a slight smile. "Compassion is a strength, never a weakness, Carnus," he corrected gently.

"Even if it kills you?"

"Especially then, my friend. Especially then."

The two men stood together a moment longer, then turned and began making their way back to the building. Unseen and unnoticed, Snape watched them go.

* * *

Sev re-wrapped the invisibility cloak and had one of the school owls deliver it to Lily's dorm where it would await her arrival. No doubt there would be more subterfuge to come, but he doubted his visibility would play into it one way or the other, and he wanted no ties linking him to Lily or the cloak's other user, James.

Lily tried to catch his eye several times during the first days of term, no doubt with questions to ask him, but the first time they ended up in a room together was in a lesson - funnily enough, Charms. The school liked to rotate which groups were put together in the different lessons, no doubt to encourage inter-house friendships - a pretty unlikely goal in the case of Gryffindor-Slytherin, but that didn't stop the powers that be from trying.

For the past couple of months, mixed Charms lessons had meant the usual warfare - especially under Professor Vitae's lax eye. She had been happy to let the battles go on unchecked, and no doubt only Snape and Malfoy realised that it wasn't in fact for the benefit of the Gryffindors.

On this occasion, however, it presented Snape with a handy opportunity to compare and contrast reactions to Professor Vitae's disappearance. Dumbledore had chosen not to announce her abrupt departure in a special assembly, perhaps to give Malfoy as little warning as possible of the loss of his ally.

The first rumblings of surprise didn't start until several minutes into the lesson, when it was realised that the usually scrupulously prompt Vitae was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe the old cow's done us all a favour and dropped dead," grinned Nick Avery. The rumblings on the Gryffindor were not so vicious, but no less optimistic in tone - the absence of even the most beloved teacher was something to be cheered. The more disruption, the less work that had to be done.

James and Sirius began loudly expounding on that mythical school 'rule' that said you could leave if the teachers were ten minutes late, trying to incite the rest of the class to join them in doing a runner. Seated beside them, Lily shot Snape a suspicious look across the room. He returned her gaze with a studiously blank expression.

The buzz of conversation turned to groans as the door creaked open, but everybody craned around in surprise when they saw it wasn't Vitae who came through it.

The smallest wizard any of them had ever seen, in just about the biggest, floppiest hat, shuffled through the door with a swaying pile of books. He made his way precariously over to the desk, and instead of opening any of them, dumped them on the chair and climbed up to sit on them.

Everybody gaped at him. He smiled in return, and tipped his hat. "Good morning, class. I'm Professor Flitwick, and I'll be taking you for Charms for the rest of this year."

The buzz of conversation resumed, twice as speculative as before. James Potter's hand was the first to shoot up.

"But, professor, what happened to Professor Vitae?"

Flitwick pushed back his hat as it threatened to slip down over his face. "Professor Vitae has had to leave Hogwarts suddenly for personal reasons."

The Slytherins burst into noisy cheers, whilst the Gryffindors looked almost comically surprised. Sev glanced at Malfoy, but he was simply staring at Flitwick, his face set in stone and his cold gaze unwavering.

"Is she sick?" shouted Sirius over the general hubbub.

"Did she get a better job?" asked Helen Beck at the same time.

"I bet something's happened to her," murmured somebody else quietly.

Flitwick clapped his hands for silence, nearly dislodging himself from his high perch in the process. "As I said, Professor Vitae has had to leave for personal reasons. I don't know any more than that, so please don't ask me. Now-"

"But who'll be head of House Gryffindor?" interrupted James, frowning.

"Nobody! Nobody wants you!" shouted Nick, and the Slytherins broke up laughing again, all except Sev and Malfoy.

Flitwick gave them a stern look, but didn't say anything. "Professor McGonagall will be taking over that side of Professor Vitae's duties," he told James.

"_McGonagall_?" Sirius let out a huge groan and sank down under his desk.

The rest of the Gryffindors winced in sympathy, and the Slytherins smirked. Unlike Vitae or Malachite, their Transfiguration teacher played no favourites - at all. No matter how winningly you smiled or how well-behaved you were ninety-nine percent of the time, if you broke the rules in front of McGonagall, you paid.

Flitwick regarded them all sternly. "Right now, settle down, that's enough of that. You're an advanced-level class, and I expect you all to know something. If you'd like to take out your copies of _The Standard Book of Spells_..."

* * *

In class, Malfoy kept up his impassive mask, but when they got back to the dorms, his followers were taken aback by the depth of his unleashed fury.

"I don't understand, Lucius-" Colin began.

Malfoy paced up and down the room in tightly-controlled rage. "Of course you don't, Crabbe, you're a moron. But I've no doubt the rest of you are surprised as well, because none of you are smart enough to see what's six inches in front of your space. You all _knew_ we had an ally on the teaching staff."

The matching expressions of disbelief were really quite funny. "But- I mean, she-" Nick tried to begin.

"She was _very well disguised_," Malfoy said sharply. "They didn't just stumble across her by accident, somebody was looking for spies, somebody ferreted her out."

"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Colin tentatively. Malfoy snarled at him.

"Dumbledore? He's half senile, and much too in love with his own image to believe anyone could act against him. No, this is the work of a traitor... worse, a traitor within our very own house."

"Who?" The other boys leaned in eagerly.

Sev wondered in an almost detached way if Malfoy would cite his own name. He didn't believe the other boy had any reason to suspect him, but he was no slouch when it came to sniffing out ways to take down potential rivals...

But no, Malfoy had other game in his sights. "Malachite," he said, disgust dripping from his voice. "He's had it in for her from the start, and he's always holding us back, talking about the 'image' of House Slytherin. As if we should care what shortsighted mudbloods and Muggle-lovers think of us!"

"What do we do now, Lucius?" asked Colin, a little nervously. It was hard to say if he was afraid of the prospect of them being found out too, or simply of Malfoy himself.

Malfoy's rage became a cold, hard grin. "Oh... I'm sure we'll think of something."


	4. Chapter Four

Malfoy presumably got into contact with Voldemort by owl, but Sev wasn't involved in any of that. He _did_ get to see their supposed leader stomping about the place with a fierce scowl, and concluded that he'd been told to wait and not make any moves just yet. Malfoy was impatient for swift retribution, but Voldemort had more cunning. Partly the wait might be to prevent people from tying the events together, but also it was to give Malachite a chance to sweat.

Except he wasn't sweating. He wasn't stupid enough to believe there would be no retribution for breaking Voldemort's plans - he was just fully confident he could deal with it.

"Most likely he'll send them after you," Sev warned him. "Us, even." If there was to be a revenge attack on Malachite, there was no way he could bow out of it without casting suspicions on his loyalties.

"Then I'll turn your attack aside," he said simply. "Severus, I would remind you that despite everything, not one of your little group is over the age of eighteen, and whatever their intent may be, there is a limit to the amount of magical expertise you can amass in that little time."

Sev would have begged to differ, but they weren't really talking about him, just his less knowledge-obsessed fellows. "Perhaps - but they've been getting their education from more sources than just Hogwarts, and the Death Eaters have no interest in placing age limits on their research."

"Learning isn't the same as doing," Malachite pointed out. "And incomplete learning is even lesser. Voldemort may teach tricks, but even if they can repeat them, they don't fully understand them, and they're no match for someone who's spent as long studying the lore as I have." He shrugged. "At the end of the day, they're still boys."

"Well, Avery's a sadist and Lestrange is mad, but you're right - they're probably no danger to you. Malfoy is a different matter. The Death Eaters have been training him for I don't know how long, maybe all of his life. I've seen him use the Cruciatus curse, and that was when he was twelve."

Malachite nodded soberly. "Then perhaps a wise man should be concerned - but you should remember, I'm not a man."

Sev returned his gaze levelly. "The legends might have said the Naga were semi-divine, but I know you're not immortal."

"Maybe not - but I think you'll find we're pretty hard to kill." He chuckled good-humouredly. Sev frowned.

"I haven't forgotten that, but neither will Voldemort. Malfoy will know by now that you're a Naga."

"What good will that do him?" Malachite wanted to know. "Come now, you've doubtless read every footnote there is to read on our people. And what more do you know about us? Precious little. We're a secretive breed, and we're rare in this part of the world."

"I know a few things," said Snape. "I know you can't harm a human unless they attack you first."

Malachite smirked. "Somehow I don't see Malfoy restraining himself long enough to bother with that little restriction."

"Nonetheless, that gives him control of the situation. You may not get a chance to take it back."

Malachite stood up with an air of finality. "Severus, I can take everything Malfoy throws at me, and walk away long after he'd think me dead. But I thank you for your concern. It's nice to know you care."

Sev kept his face expressionless. "We wouldn't want to sacrifice our operatives unnecessarily. It's inefficient."

Malachite laughed. "You know," he said, clapping Snape on the shoulder, "I really don't know anymore if that cold front you put on is false or true."

Sev shrugged and got up to leave. "Maybe I don't either," he suggested with a thin smile.

* * *

It took Lily nearly a month to successfully corner him, but she caught up with him eventually. "Snape. Talk to me."

He shrugged. "Been missing my scintillating conversation?"

"Not to mention your delightful company." She backed him into a deserted classroom. "Okay, spill."

"You want me to tell you everything I know?" He raised a single eyebrow. "That could take a while."

"I have all the time in the world." She hopped up to perch on the edge of a desk, and glared at him. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Well, there's a suspicion two of the teaching staff have got engaged, Derek Dobbs turned his brother into a gerbil, Hagrid's trying to adopt a sea monster, and I hear Gryffindor are tipped for the Quidditch trophy this year."

"Quite. What about Professor Vitae?"

"She's gone."

Lily snorted. "Thanks for that. Where?" She regarded him sharply. "Is she dead?"

It was Snape's turn to roll his eyes. "It would probably be better if she was, but no. Malachite and Dumbledore confronted her, and then they let her go."

Lily nodded slowly. "Good. Well, not good, but... we shouldn't have to become like them. In the end, that's just another form of losing."

"Yes, well. _Losing_ is also a form of losing, and if we're not permitted to be ruthless or pragmatic, all we have to rely on is our intelligence. And, unfortunately, not all of us are me."

"Oh, come on," Lily insisted. "You can't say Dumbledore and Malachite aren't smart!"

"They'll do, but Dumbledore's far too trusting. Malachite's got more of a clue, but he's also well convinced that we have justice on our side, so we must be indestructible. He's arrogant."

"And you're not?"

"I'm not arrogant, I'm just well-informed on the subject of my own brilliance."

"Good God," she groaned, shaking her head. "Typical Slytherins, the pair of you."

"Smile when you say that."

"Talking of typical Slytherins," Lily said sharply, "what about Malfoy? He knew Vitae was the spy, right? He must be spitting!"

"He is." Sev turned more serious. "He knows Malachite was behind it, as well, and he'll be out for revenge. But Malachite doesn't think he's old enough or experienced enough to be a danger."

"Well, that's just stupid." Lily, seeing the side of Malfoy and his followers that the teachers never saw, was well aware of what he was capable of.

"And now we're back at the point I made quite some time ago. These conversations would go much easier if you just accepted that when I tell you something, I know what I'm talking about."

"Whatever," she waved him aside. "Well, what's Malfoy going to do? Can't you stop him?"

"No, in fact I'm going to have to join him." She gave him a dark look, but sighed and turned her eyes away, knowing he was right. "I can't afford to let him think for a moment that my loyalties are wavering."

"True... but you've fought from the inside before. If you could just find a way to-"

"I could, but Malachite won't budge. He wants to have the confrontation, because he's so confident they won't be able to hurt him. And if it comes down to a face to face duel, and I can't use the cloak because I've got to be seen to be there, then there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. The ball's completely out of my court." He smiled humourlessly. "And you know how much I love that."

Lily pulled her knees up against her chest and hugged them reflectively. "Well," she said finally, chewing anxiously on her lower lip, "maybe he _does_ know what he's doing. He is a Naga, after all. You saw the way he recovered when he got stabbed last year."

"Perhaps," Sev acknowledged with a nod. "Certainly we're going to have to assume so."

Perhaps Lily was right, after all. But Sev was accustomed to living only by his own expert judgement, and he didn't like the idea of trusting to Malachite's overconfident self-image much at all.

* * *

It was hard to say if the young cadre of Death Eaters were looking towards the inevitable revenge on Malachite with eagerness or terror. Around their head of house Malfoy was his usual insincerely charming self, but in private he ranted and raged and muttered about how soon they would be wiping the smirk off his face. Sev hadn't been aware of Malachite smirking particularly much, but he didn't think it was very wise to point it out.

The Slytherins were scared of Malfoy in this dark mood; everybody was, apart from James Potter and his suicidally confrontational band of Gryffindors. In one spectacularly nasty magical brawl outside the Charms classroom, Malfoy cursed Pete Pettigrew so nastily that he spent the remainder of the spring term in the hospital wing.

The Gryffindors took their revenge in various ways, but mostly it was directed at the rest of the group, not Malfoy. Sev wondered if Lily was behind that somehow: she had to know that crossing him right now was a long way from a good idea.

Sev suspected that his fellow Death Eaters were glad of the distraction. Spying was one thing, as was launching attacks on their long-term schoolyard enemies. A possibly fatal, definitely highly nasty assault on a teacher - and one who had been mostly pretty good to them, to boot - was in an altogether different league.

"But what if we get _caught_?" Sev overheard Avery whisper to Colin, when Malfoy was out of the dorm.

"Lucius won't let that happen," Crabbe insisted, but his usual slavish devotion was tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

"Yeah, but... he's a _teacher_," said Nick, sounding quite close to panic.

"He'll bleed and die just like anybody else," said Simon, and everybody listening shuddered. It wasn't so much the words as the pleasantly conversational way in which he spoke them.

"Lucius is right," spoke up Goyle. The two younger boys had taken up sitting in the seventh year dorm with their fellows since the winter when Voldemort had proclaimed their little group something akin to a military unit. "They won't catch us. They can't stop us."

"Yeah, but Dumbledore..." Avery shuddered. "He always _knows_ when people have done stuff. We'll be caught for sure." Sev supposed it said a lot about Nick Avery that this was a far bigger concern in his mind than any kind of moral qualms.

"It's kiddie stories," snapped Alex Nott. "He doesn't really know everything. He's just an old fool who's got everybody believing in him." As the junior members of the troop, the two sixth years usually felt obliged to talk it up as if they were tougher and more dangerous than anyone else there.

"Yeah... Yeah," agreed Avery more firmly. "We're cool. We're untouchable. We're the serpent, right? They can't touch us." It sounded more like he was convincing himself than proselytising, but the others all nodded in agreement. Whatever private doubts they had, they were too invested in their own pride, and in too deep to back out now. When Malfoy came calling for them to do his bidding, they would be there.

* * *

When Easter came rolling around that year, Malfoy didn't invite the others to come back home with him. In fact, he left the school with hardly a word to any of them. If he was getting any final orders from Voldemort, he obviously wasn't prepared to share them with anyone.

There was only a tiny scattering of students remaining in the school for the holidays, and amongst the seventh years Sev was the only one not madly cramming for exams. When they came along, he would pass them, and pass them as excellently as he desired; he always did. But when it came to his exit from Hogwarts, the grades he got in his NEWTs were going to be just about the least important thing imaginable in determining his future.

In the relative privacy of the holidays, he was able to seek out Dumbledore and try to talk to him about Malachite.

"He won't listen to me," he warned the headmaster. "He's convinced he can deal with Malfoy on his own."

"I agree that Professor Malachite's self-confidence can be a little... excessive," Dumbledore admitted, peering at him over half-moon spectacles, "but it is not unjustified. I assure you, he's as well-schooled in magical defences as anybody in the wizarding world. That's how he came to the post he occupies, after all. In these dark days, did you supposed I'd trust the defence of Hogwarts to anybody but the most qualified?"

Sev refrained from pointing out that for all the qualifications of its defenders, Hogwarts had been infiltrated by Death Eaters, had staff members killed and students assaulted, and had only narrowly turned aside a raid that could have had horrific consequences.

"I'm not casting doubts on his abilities," he said instead, "only his attitude. He's not taking Malfoy seriously."

"Severus, I assure you," said the headmaster, "Carnus may seem to take things lightly, but he is as prepared for what may come as anyone could ever be. I know, perhaps better than anyone, what a terrible thing it is to ask others to take risks for the sake of your goals - but it is something, alas, that we all must do from time to time. There are dark things coming, but if we work together and trust each other, we'll be ready to meet them."

The headmaster spoke with absolute conviction, but Sev was less than satisfied with his answer. Even at seventeen, he had seen more than enough of the world to know that self-righteousness and a noble cause was _not_ an automatic guarantee that you would win.

Still, what could he do? The warnings had been given; repeating them would do nothing. Ironically, he began to appreciate more something Dumbledore had said to him a few years ago - that for all his brilliance, his knowledge was only worth something if people were willing to listen to him.

Unfortunately, he had a suspicion that their wake-up call would not be a long time coming... And by then, it would probably be entirely too late.

* * *

The holidays seemed to end as quickly as they had approached, and the rest of the students came grumbling back to their studies. Or most of them did, anyway.

Of Lucius Malfoy, there was no sign.


	5. Chapter Five

Their absent leader returned in the middle of a Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The whole room fell silent as Malfoy came strolling in as if he'd never been away at all.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," said Malachite sharply. "Decided to grace us with your presence?"

"I've only just got back to school, professor," he pointed out, dropping bonelessly into his usual chair at the back.

"So I notice. I assume you have a good reason why?"

"I was called away for personal reasons," Malfoy smirked. A few people snickered, recognising the joke on the lack of explanation for Professor Vitae's disappearance - only the Death Eaters knew it for the challenge it was.

And Malachite. "Very well," he said, smiling thinly. "No doubt you'll be happy to catch up the missed work on your own time. I know you're always eager to learn."

"I am. I've been learning a lot." He smiled wolfishly. "You'd be surprised."

Those who weren't listening for it probably didn't even catch the barb.

* * *

"Lucius, where've you been?" demanded Nick, as soon as they were out of class. Malfoy shrugged casually.

"Just like I said; I've been learning."

"Learning what?" frowned Colin, always slow to catch on.

"Some very useful tricks." Malfoy flexed his wand meaningfully. It was obvious what those 'tricks' were going to be used for.

"When?" said Simon eagerly.

"Not yet." But there was a gleam in his eye as he spoke, where before he'd been grinding his teeth. Voldemort might have cautioned him to wait, but he'd definitely given him the go-ahead.

They were supposed to be on their way to Herbology, but Malfoy had other ideas. "Come with me." He led them back to the Slytherin dorms where they could talk in private.

"We're going to do it?" asked Nick immediately, sounding uncertain whether to be thrilled or nervous.

Malfoy nodded with a triumphant smile. "Soon, very soon. When the exams start."

"The exams?" frowned Colin.

"It makes sense," agreed Sev dispassionately. "There are no lessons, everybody's in unusual places, the staff are all charging about and everyone's distracted-"

"It's perfect," agreed Malfoy.

"What... uh, what are we gonna do, exactly?" asked Colin tentatively.

Malfoy's grin widened, and Sev remembered Joshua Matthews. A Slytherin boy with the misfortune to have a younger brother put in Gryffindor, he'd been forced out of the school by Malfoy and his cronies. To preserve his precious position when he was still trying to be accepted into the Death Eaters, Sev had been forced to stand by and do nothing whilst Malfoy tortured him with the Cruciatus curse.

Now, he was going to be put in exactly the same position - but this time, Malachite's 'crime' was far worse than one of family connections, and the chances of him scraping through with nothing more than a few days in the hospital wing were not exactly enormous.

"You, Crabbe, are going to follow my lead. You all are. I'm the leader here." The last was aimed pointedly at Sev; he met it was a calculatedly neutral gaze. "_I'll_ be taking care of Malachite - you're just along for the ride."

"Then why do we need to be there at all?" wondered Avery. He shrank under Malfoy's glare.

"Why, Nicholas, is there a problem?"

"No!" he said quickly, with a defensive shrug. "I was only, you know, asking."

"It's a show of strength," Malfoy said. "More than that, it's teamwork. After all, we're the serpent, are we not? Anybody suddenly _not_ want to be in the team?"

Of course, there were no takers. Slow wits or warped minds, none of them were stupid enough to believe that there was any way to back out now.

"But Lucius," said Colin hesitantly, "I mean, we'll be... they'll know it's us. He'll recognise us."

"We'll be wearing these." Malfoy tugged a suitcase out from under his bed and drew the zip back a little to reveal the thick cloth inside, a heavy black robe like the one Vitae had worn to preserve her anonymity. "And besides," he grinned. "The only one who's going to see us is Malachite. And by the time we're done with him, he won't be in any position to tell anybody anything."

* * *

The robe was heavier than the invisibility cloak, and it carried an anonymity of a different sort. Malachite would know who was confronting him, he wasn't stupid - but he wouldn't know which one of them was Snape. Under the thick robes they all looked as bulky as Colin Crabbe, and it was hard to discern anything of the wearer's movements. No wonder it had been so difficult to put a name to the Death Eater from a few distant glimpses.

Malachite knew the attack was coming, and he knew it would be soon - but he didn't know it was tonight. Sev hadn't had it confirmed until mere hours ago, thought he'd suspected it was coming soon from Malfoy's itchy, eager exterior. There had been no chance to send a final warning, and he hadn't tried - Malfoy would be watching like a hawk for the slightest hint of doubts or wavering. Malachite would just have to be as prepared as he claimed to be.

They walked through the darkened corridors in silence; not for fear of being caught, but because something about their new robes and their deadly mission demanded it. They weren't schoolboys now - they were Death Eaters. They were the seven-headed serpent.

Malfoy led the way unerringly, out of the school and towards the Forbidden Forest. Sev thought of the snake tracks he had often stumbled over out there, and knew that Vitae must have known of Malachite's late-night excursions. After all, she had been into the forest herself, to set up the Portkey and to hide the body of the murdered astronomy teacher, Auriga Cephus. And she had known since her school days what Malachite was.

Perhaps in his snake form he had excellent hearing, or perhaps he had just had the foresight to set up wards around the forest to alert him. He should have known that the time was close, for Dumbledore had been forced away to his usual exam-time meetings with the other schools. Either way, when they passed into the trees he was standing quietly waiting for them.

If any of the boys around him started in alarm or surprise, they did it silently, and the robes hid any such sign of movement.

"Malachite," said Malfoy darkly. His voice was sharp and icy cold, a tone that those around him knew well but the teachers had never heard. Nonetheless, Malachite knew full well who he was.

"Malfoy." He was calm, hands in the pockets of his robes, a slight smile creasing his face above the trim white goatee beard. Snape saw it, then, in a flash of insight that had eluded him through the sheer lack of logic. This was what Malachite had wanted all along. He hadn't ignored Sev's warnings because he was short-sighted, or vain, or refusing to believe in the danger. He'd come out here because he _wanted_ this confrontation. He wanted to stand out here in front of the enemy and face them down.

Malachite still smiled as his eyes flickered from figure to figure. He didn't know which was which, but he knew the names, and he recited them with a level voice that was more accusing than any impassioned yell. "Snape. Avery. Crabbe. Lestrange. Goyle. Nott."

One of the figures flinched, but it wasn't Malfoy and it was impossible to tell the other hooded figures apart. None of them spoke, and none of them made any move to turn and run. It was too late for that.

"Well, you've got me," said Malachite, with an insolent shrug. "Now what are you going to do with me?"

To all appearances, Malfoy remained unflustered. "You're a traitor to your house and to your people," he said harshly.

"My people?" The Defence Against the Dark Arts master laughed. "What do you know about my people?" His eyes narrowed. "As for my house - you're bigger traitors to house Slytherin than I could ever be, all of you. Doing your bit to drive us further into shadow, destroying the reputations of those of us who _work_ for our place in this world, who try to do good even though nobody expects or believes it of us. Following the dark path."

"The _right_ path," insisted Malfoy forcefully.

"The _easy_ path," Malachite corrected with a sneer. "Why do you follow your precious Lord Voldemort? What do think he can give you? Riches, glory? You're a fool if you think those things are worth anything, and twice a fool if you believe he'll share them with _you_ if he gets them."

"Maybe I think he's right," suggested Malfoy pointedly.

"Maybe you think he's your stepping stone to power," the teacher corrected.

"And what if I do? Power is power, wherever you get it. He's taught me things you narrow-minded do-gooders could never dream of."

Malachite just laughed, the earthy chuckle out of place amongst the shadows of the forest at night. "Ah, dear. I always knew you were too ambitious for your own good, Malfoy, but I never had you down as stupid. You think he gives you power? Power's something you build for yourself, it's not something you can give and take. You're nothing but a tool in your master's hand."

"Maybe so." Malfoy's dark robe shifted as he shrugged. "But even a tool gains a sharper edge with use. He's honing me to be the perfect weapon, and one day I'll be my own master. For now, I do what he asks because it makes me better." He chuckled himself, and the sound chilled the air. "And if I get to enjoy what I do? Well, that's a bonus."

He drew his wand with a flourish. Malachite scoffed. He clicked his fingers, and his own wand appeared. "Your master should learn to take better care of his tools. Try and cut something that's too hard, and they're apt to get... blunted."

The two circled each other warily. Sev's hand was on his wand, but he knew he couldn't use it. His own well-learned but seldom tested powers would do little to help a wizard of Malachite's level, not to mention the niggling little detail that doing so would destroy absolutely everything they'd been working towards.

Malfoy snapped out a curse with whipcrack speed and zero warning, but Sev didn't even hear what it was because Malachite countered it in the same instant. There was a blare of orange-red light that quickly fizzled out, and the combatants went back to circling.

"Interesting choice," Malachite observed, as if they were still in class. "Not the most efficient, though. This isn't an exhibition duel, Malfoy, you should be trying for damage, not flash."

"No I shouldn't. _Stupefy!_"

Malachite countered the stun charm with barely a blink. "Amateur, Malfoy. Fight me, or don't; your tricks won't work." But he didn't make his own attack, and Sev realised that he couldn't; technically, Malfoy hadn't harmed him. Bound by the magical constraints of the Naga, Malachite couldn't fight until his opponent tried to hurt him. A stun charm, however malevolent the intent, was technically harmless.

"Fair enough," Malfoy shrugged. "_Imperio_!" Sev felt the air crackle with the force of a forbidden curse unleashed.

Malachite's face contorted for a moment, and for a fraction of a second Sev thought he glimpsed a flash of icy white scales. Then his muscles untensed and he smirked. "Nice try, boy, but you don't think I've been trained in these things?" Sev knew that the Imperius curse could be fought off with sufficient strength of mind, and certainly Malachite had proved himself more than sufficiently stubborn.

"And now it's my turn." But instead of turning his wand on Malfoy, he pointed it at a nearby tree. "_Incendrio_!" The frozen watchers all stumbled back as it burst abruptly into flames. Malachite gave a small smile. "And now we can see." He flicked his wand towards Malfoy, and the hood of his cloak snapped back to reveal his pale features. "There, that's better, isn't it?"

Malfoy sneered. "Idiot. If you had any sense, that would be me burning there. _Locomotor Mortis_!"

Malachite's legs locked together as he fell forwards, but he was laughing as he fell. A moment later he rose up again, and Sev heard a sharp intake of breath from one of the boys as they saw that the lower half of his body was now a thick snake's tail.

"Not everyone needs two legs, Malfoy. _Expelliarmus_!" He flicked his arm, and Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand.

"_Accio_!" He snapped his fingers and it flew straight back.

"Very impressive," said Malachite, with a flick of his eyebrows. Without warning, he suddenly lashed his serpent tail around, knocking Malfoy off his feet. "But not quite good enough. _Encavio_!" A mass of tree roots surged up out of the ground to entrap Malfoy in a living cage.

Malfoy slammed his palm hard against the unmoving roots that held him, and then scrabbled for his wand. "_Reducto_!" The cage blasted open.

"_Syrtissio_!"

Suddenly Malfoy was scrambling to grab one of those same thick roots as the ground melted away into quicksand beneath him. "_Glaciaro_!" he gasped out.

Malachite yelped as his body was suddenly hit by a coat of frost. He shifted back into his fully human form and stumbled awkwardly - his snake body couldn't take the cold.

"_Spinasosia_!" Malfoy rapidly followed up, jumping away from the quicksand. A web of thorns rose up from the ground and wrapped itself around Malachite.

"_Secario_!" He cut the thornbush down with an impatient flick of the wrist. He looked angry now, his cool burned away. "_Orbis Ignium_!" The flames from the burning tree suddenly swept around Malfoy to form a circle of fire.

"_Extinguero_!" The flames faded into a charred circle, but Malfoy winced, the strain of the magic he was pumping out beginning to show. He half staggered, grabbing a tree to steady himself.

For a moment both combatants stood still, breathing heavily.

"Ah," began Malachite with a smirk. "Not so-"

"_Fissio_!" His planned taunt became a hasty leap backwards as the ground beneath his feet split into a chasm.

Malachite frowned, and then pointed his wand at the ground. "_Obducio_!" The gap began to heal over. He turned back towards Malfoy, but his young opponent was ready for him.

"_Crucio_!" His yell split the air with twice the force of any spell he'd yet uttered. Malachite buckled in agony and fell to his knees. Malfoy stepped towards him, wand still raised as he held the spell in place.

Malachite's form writhed, and Sev saw the snake begin to take shape. But Malfoy summoned his fellow Death Eaters with an imperious wave of the hand. "To me!" he ordered.

They came running, and all trained their wands on the fallen professor. "_Crucio_!"

"_Crucio_!"

"_Crucio_!"

Alone, probably none of them would have had the strength to cast the forbidden curse. But their weak spells meshed together, joining with Malfoy's into a force beyond any of their individual abilities.

Sev raised his wand in the same motion, but he never uttered the word of power. It didn't matter. His own contribution wasn't needed.

Malachite screeched, a cry of pain that passed out of the audible and into silence. He contorted in silent agony, shifting from human to snake and back again and finding no relief. And then, finally, he was still.

After a moment, Malfoy lowered his wand, and the others followed his lead. They all stared at the still form of their fallen teacher. His grey eyes were open, but staring at nothing, and he wasn't breathing.

"He's dead," said Nick Avery, pulling back his hood in something like wonder. They all gathered around to look down at him.

Sev looked for a moment at Malachite's body, and into his unseeing eyes. And then he thought _Snakes don't need to blink_... The Naga were a water race, they could go for hours without breathing...

His hood, still down over his face, hid the smirk that suddenly passed across his features. The gutsiest of double bluffs...

Malfoy forced his way between his colleagues to stare at his vanquished foe. His breath was still coming heavily, shockingly loud in the darkness.

"You did it, Lucius," said Avery, trepidation giving way to amazement and something approaching glee. "You killed him, he's really dead!"

And Sev began to believe that Malachite was really going to get away with it.

But then Malfoy shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "No, he's not." He raised his wand arm, trembling on the edge of collapse, and closed his eyes. "_Avada Kedavra_," he let out in breath that was barely more than a whisper. A flash of green light shot out from his wand and coruscated over the fallen man.

Malfoy opened his eyes, and from somewhere found the energy to give his usual triumphant smirk. "He is now."


	6. Chapter Six

"I'm going back," Sev said abruptly, as the others hustled through the forest.

"What for?" demanded Avery, wide-eyed with disbelief and terror.

"To make sure he's dead!" Well, that was nothing but the truth. "And to raise the Dark Mark. If you're making a statement, you need everyone to see it."

Avery looked uncertain. "Lucius-"

"Is half a second away from being dead on his feet. Get him back to the dorms before he collapses and you have to carry him," Sev ordered. "I'm going back." He left before anybody could question his assumption of command.

Sev barrelled through the trees and skidded back to the side of the fallen Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. A moment later, Malachite's eyes flickered open. "You came back," he said, with difficulty. "I thought you would."

"You're not dead." Even Snape could probably be forgiven for stating the obvious, considering all that had transpired.

"I will be." Malachite closed his eyes for a moment, even that small movement seeming to pain him. "I'm just dying in two planes of existence at once, and that's going to take some time."

"I heard the Naga are supposed to be semi-divine," Sev said. He didn't try to help his teacher up or make him comfortable. There didn't seem to be a whole lot he could do.

"More or less." Malachite smiled awkwardly. "I'm tending towards the less end of the spectrum, under the circumstances. There are-" he winced, "-there are very, very few things in this world that can kill one of us. Unfortunately, I do believe that was one of them."

"I'm told that times like these are bad for saying I told you so."

Malachite spat out a fragment of a chuckle. "I see your people skills are as good as ever."

"Malfoy was more dangerous than you thought."

"Yes... more dangerous than any of us thought." He closed his eyes for long enough for Snape to wonder if he was going. "Good fight, though," he said, with a sudden bright smile. "I had fun."

"Well, that's good to know," said Sev sardonically.

Malachite just looked at him. "I assume they sent you back to make sure I was dead?"

"I sent myself, actually, but pretty much. Malfoy's half dead from the duel."

"I'll bet he is. Pity he's not all dead. Ha! Should've written that on his student report before I came out here. Missed opportunity." He focused on Sev with some difficulty. "Severus...? You're still here? I thought you were... wait..." He gritted his teeth and somehow managed to pull himself back together. His lips were beginning to turn blue, and Sev chose to assume he was too numb by now to be feeling much pain at all.

Sev found this gradual fading away even more chilling than the thought of a violent and painful death. The thought of his mind, the only thing about him that meant anything, gradually bleeding away... He hid his wince behind the usual quiet mask.

"Malfoy," said Malachite, finding his way back to the thread of the conversation. "You were right. I thought he'd... spent it all when he called... for help, but he was holding that... in reserve..."

"Voldemort's been grooming him," Sev reminded him softly.

"Even so, I didn't... I should have..." His eyes were losing their focus again, and suddenly he gripped Snape by the arm. "Defence... Against... the Dark Arts. Need someone..."

Sev shook his head slowly. "You won't get anybody volunteering for that job," he pointed out quietly. "Not after..." He couldn't figure out how to finish that sentence, and should he read something into that, or should he read something into the fact that even here, even now, he wasn't reacting but analysing his own reactions?

"I know," Malachite grated. "After... They'll forget, they'll think it's safe... Somebody who knows..."

"Me?" Sev realised, genuinely surprised.

"You."

"I can't be a spy _and_ a defender."

"Then... do one at a time. But... one day, choose... Draw a line and... just..."

"I will," said Sev quietly. "When this is over, I'll come back and protect Hogwarts for you. Someone's got to, and hell, everyone else around here is too stupid."

Malachite found his last reserve of strength and struggled to look him in the eye. "How do I... know... you're not... lying to... lying to... comfort a d-dying man?"

"Because I'm me," he said simply.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

Malachite started to laugh, and somewhere in the laughter he closed his eyes and didn't open them again.

* * *

Sev sat back on his heels for a long moment. He kept waiting for the paralysing grief or guilt or whatever he was supposed to feel to come crashing down, and it just didn't. His brain continued ticking. He felt angry and he felt melancholy and he felt frustrated that he hadn't stopped this and... that was it. He just _felt_ it. It didn't take him over, didn't crush him up, didn't motivate him to jump up and curse the gods or fate or whatever else. It was just there. There were his emotions and his logic, and his logic wasn't going anywhere.

After a moment, he stood up. Then he raised the Dark Mark and left the scene before anyone could find him there.

Because he was himself, and that was all he knew how to be.

* * *

There was a funeral; Sev didn't go. Lily did, and he saw her coming back afterwards, sniffing back tears with James Potter's arm around her. James himself was dry-eyed, but firm-jawed and solemn; Malachite had been no friend to him, but he hadn't been an enemy either, and James Potter's hatred of the Death Eaters burned with a white hot flame.

Sev avoided Lily, then and in the days that followed. He wasn't sure they would have had anything to say to each other. Malachite's death had been unavoidable, perhaps even necessary - but he couldn't say as much to Lily, and he couldn't pretend that he knew how to be emotionally devastated. His brain worked the way that it did; it wasn't something he could switch on and off.

His brain was telling him that now was the very worst time to betray any inkling of doubt or weakness. The young Death Eaters had crossed the line, but the actions that had brought them there had been solely Malfoy's. If anybody was going to cut and run, now would be the time, and he had to be above suspicion.

So he stayed away from Lily and he stayed away from Dumbledore, and for the few remaining weeks of school he stuck close to Malfoy and acted as he would be expected to.

Malfoy himself, once he had recovered from the exhaustion of a full-on magical battle, had regained his smirk and swagger, only magnified. The gap between his public and his private persona had grown huge, as he flipped between sorrowful student and triumphant enemy general.

The ripples of shock that had been sent through the school were earth-shattering. The disappearances, the attack on Josh Matthews, even the discovery of Professor Cephus's body were nothing on the effects of a well-known and well-respected teacher being killed on campus, in the middle of the night. The sparkling death's head Sev had cast had remained hanging over the forest until halfway through the following day when Dumbledore had been located and urged to come home.

The NEWTs and OWLs had gone on, although all the other end-of-year exams had been cancelled. Most of the student body, including some of those who were supposed to be taking those qualifications, had fled the school. Come the following year, Sev very much doubted the vast majority of them would be back.

The final graduation ceremony, usually an uproarious celebration before governors, students and their extended families, was performed to a sadly depleted stock of seventh-years and their petrified-looking parents. Nonetheless, Dumbledore gamely stood up to give the traditional speech.

His blue eyes were dark with gravity as he fixed every individual in the hall with his gaze, as if trying to transfer his passion and belief to them. He spoke of trial and tragedy, of the shock of the death of Malachite and how he believed they could overcome the darkness if they worked together. His speech that year was probably the first one ever given that dared to address the Death Eaters full on, and even voice that name that sent a shudder of terror through the hall: Lord Voldemort.

Sev sat in the back with the rest of the seventh year Death Eaters, several rows of empty chairs between them and the others. Such was the power of Dumbledore's voice that none of them even tried to mock him, they just watched with a kind of steely resignation. They all knew it was too late to change the decision they'd made, whatever the consequences.

Dumbledore spoke on and on, filling his audience with fire and determination. But the five of them weren't part of that audience, not even Snape. It wasn't his place to stand tall and defy the darkness, but rather to infiltrate it and turn it against itself. He was as much as soldier of the light as anybody in the room, more so - but most likely none of them would never know it.

Lily and James stood to either side of Dumbledore on the stage; head boy and head girl, standing by their headmaster. Lily caught his eye only once during the proceedings, and her face was as studiously blank as his own had ever been. He couldn't tell if she blamed him for what had happened to Malachite or not, and maybe it was better that he didn't know.

Finally, beside him, Malfoy pushed to his feet. "Enough of this sugary tripe," he hissed darkly. "We're done with this place. It's time to go." Nick, Colin and Simon got up to follow him.

Up on the stage, Dumbledore was still speaking. "...and I wish good luck, good health, and good faith, to all who have walked the corridors of this school... wherever their lives may take them."

His gaze swept across the room, and locked for a fraction of a second with Snape's. Sev nodded very, very slightly in reply.

Then he stood up, and followed Malfoy out of the room.

**End**


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